Taking her there with me
by Redizded
Summary: "There?" he whispers in her ear and, sure enough, he feels her grip tighten. - COMPLETE! -
1. Chapter 1

_This story takes place a few weeks after the ending in North and South, assuming that Margaret and John have just got married._

_My intent is to explore how things might be between them in terms of sexuality, taking into account their passionate nature, but also the strong Victorian inhibitions and rules that undoubtedly would have influenced any couples' sex life at that time._

_As you can see, this first chapter is very short, and those that follow won't necessarily be much longer. Just so that you don't expect a very long story if that's what you're looking for. The chapters will be some sort of excerpts from their nights together._

_Beware that, given the subject, this story is obviously rated M, although I've tried to make it as tasteful as I could (of course, your opinion might differ ;-))._

_Please let me know what you think of it (good or bad, I'm not picky ;-))!_

* * *

She lies underneath him, eyes closed, heart pounding. He is slowly moving inside her.

He is taking his time about it, claiming her with long, deep thrusts. His face is  
buried in her neck. His lips move endlessly against the soft skin there, one of his  
arms cradling her head. With the other hand, he strokes her thigh in smooth motions,  
from hip to knee. Each time he reaches the back of her knee, he pulls it up at the  
crook, gently persuading her to open herself wider to him, sinking deeper into her.

The room is warm, and dark. Only a few live embers from the fireplace cast a soft  
glow on the bed. Apart from the quiet rustling of sheets, all is silent.

He never wants this to end. He only wants to bury himself deeper into her, and for  
her to feel as consumed by him as he is by her. He thinks she holds back. She, who  
always speaks her mind and with whom he can always talk so openly, she, does not  
utter a word during their nights together. He reasons that this is all so new to her,  
and that she was raised to think of it as a duty, one that has to be endured, not  
enjoyed. But he is determined to prove her wrong.

In his desire to melt into her, he snakes a hand around her hips and lifts them up to  
meet his next thrust. He hears her gasp and her hold on his shoulders stiffens. He  
stops kissing her neck and searches her eyes intently but she avoids him, turning her  
face away from him.

"Have I hurt you?" he worries in a low, urgent voice.

Slowly, she shakes her head to say no, but she still avoids his stare.

He studies her face carefully in the semi-darkness. He notices that the flush on her  
face has deepened, and that her chest rises and falls faster. And realization dawns  
on him.

He repeats the motion.

"There?" he whispers in her ear and, sure enough, he feels her grip tighten, her  
eyelids shut tight. Her lips are pressed in an effort to stifle any sound.  
She won't answer but it doesn't matter. He knows.

Swiftly, he grabs a pillow and places it under her, so that her hips are angled up  
towards him. He knows she must feel mortified, but that does not stop him.  
Knowing that her body responds to his thrills him beyond words. It gives him hope  
that he can teach her to overcome her shame.

* * *

Every time she thinks of it, she feels her cheeks burn with shame.  
She is lying next to him in the early hours of a misty morning and for once, she has  
awaken before him.  
They have been married for a fortnight now, and she still has not got used to waking up  
next to a man. She thinks she will never get used to it. How could she? She was raised  
in a world where men and women can barely speak to each other without a chaperon,  
where showing an ankle is seen as indecent and where maidens are shielded from the  
mere sight of a man's throat. And then, in an overnight, she is now expected to lie  
with a man, in nothing more than her nightgown, and to feel his weight on top of her.

She is asked to forget all that she has ever learnt and to surrender every bit of  
modesty. She is told to give him free access to a part of her body she barely knows  
herself.

And yet.

He was so kind, so tactful, so...gentlemanly to her that first night, and all those  
that have followed since then.


	2. Chapter 2

So, here is the second chapter. It deals with the wedding night and the one that follows. I've had to split it in two, but I will post the second part very soon for it's mostly written already. I've digged into more details than I intended to at the beginning (as you'll mostly see in the next chapter), because I felt it was important to show the extent of Margaret's ignorance in such matters.

Please let me know what you think :-) And please do not hesitate to point out any grammar, spelling or style issues, I'll be grateful!

* * *

When all the wedding guests had left, he had offered his arm and led her to her room.

He gave her a good hour of privacy before knocking on the adjoining door to his room. She summoned up all her courage and opened the door, only clad in her nightgown, her hair undone.

She blushes deeply as she remembers him taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth, then framing her face and softly kissing her lips. She was frozen in fear. Her heart beat wildly and she had a hard time processing what he was saying. But eventually his words made their way through the buzz in her ears. He would not demand anything from her that night. He only asked that she lie with him and let him hold her. Unable to utter a sound, she nodded. He led her to the bed and proceeded to blow out the candles. In the darkness, she heard the rustling of clothes being discarded, then the heaving of the mattress when he lay next to her. He reached for her then, embracing her waist. He kissed her neck, and she felt a tingle there.  
Tentatively, she covered his hands with hers and managed a trembling "Thank you". She felt the corners of his mouth curl up against her skin. "You are welcome."

She fell asleep in his arms. When she woke, he had already left for the mill.

* * *

The second night, he came to her room again.

"May I join you?", he asked softly. He approached her bed slowly, letting her time, she understood, to deny him if she wished to. Deeply moved by his consideration, she nodded with a tender smile. He came to sit at the edge of the bed, taking her hands in his. She blushed under his loving gaze and lowered her eyes, noticing then that he was only wearing a night shirt and breeches. She had never seen him in this state of undress before, and her heart beat harder. She was surprised to find him so handsome in his present disheveled state. She could see his throat and the muscles moving beneath the thin layer of cotton with each movement. She had to swallow.

He leaned over her. Taking hold of her wrists, he secured them around his neck and gazed at her with soft eyes.

She gave him a shy smile. He started to kiss her cheeks, her hair, then her mouth. Tentatively, she returned his kiss. Her eyes closed instinctively and she felt his hands frame her face, his thumbs swipe over her cheekbones. The kiss was slow, but thorough. She felt every inch of her lips covered with his mouth and much like at the train station, her heart started to hammer in her chest in response. But, unlike at the train station, he did not stop. Rather, his lips became more insistent and with a shock, she felt his tongue trace her upper lip, then the lower one. She did not know such kisses existed. This felt foreign, and yet, she felt a pleasant tingle on her lips.  
Before long though, one of his hands descended on her throat, and then to the little bow that secured the top of her nightgown.

He stopped kissing her.

With his eyes, he silently sought permission and she gave a weak, trembling nod. The knot unravelled and his mouth was instantly claiming the newly revealed skin, his hand finding its way underneath the fabric and cupping the full softness of her breasts. He stroked her with such gentleness that, the first moments of surprise and unease past, she managed to relax a little. However, her nipples were growing painfully hard under his palm, her skin tingling there, and she did not know what to do with this onslaught of sensations. She felt hot everywhere. She was torn between shame at what he was making her feel, and the obscure need for more, though she did not know what. She still had her hands around his neck and hesitantly toyed with the short hair at the nape. She thought that, although she knew she was not supposed to play an active part in this, this subtle demonstration of affection would not be held against her and might show her willingness to make it as pleasant as possible for him. However, she could not help but tense when she felt his hand leave her breast and gradually make its way down her nightgown, stopping at her waist, then at her hip. He lingered there for a while, tracing soft circles on her hipbone with his thumb.

"Are you all right?" he inquired softly, his voice even deeper than usual.

She nodded.

"Are you…" he stopped, seeming hesitant, grasping for words. "I mean to say, you do know what is going to happen between you and I, don't you, Margaret?"

"I… have a general idea", she replied, mortified at the notion of speaking of such things.

"A general idea", he repeated, pondering her words. He was looking directly at her with vague perplexity as to the true extent of her knowledge. While he remained silent, she could not help but study his face in the semi-darkness, mesmerized at the neat angle of the jaw. The sharp line of the nose. The burning gaze that he often gave her, and that made her feel so weak at the knees. The delicate curve of the mouth.

Suddenly, he seemed to make up his mind about something and, in one swift movement, he put his hand between her legs, over the nightgown.

Her jaw dropped open and she was so shocked that she could not utter a word. They stared at each other in silence. She could feel the warmth of his palm burning even through the fabric.

"I am going to need to touch you there." he stated softly. "Intimately. To go inside you, in fact". His voice sounded hoarse, and apologetic at the same time. His eyes seemed to be pleading for her understanding.

"I am sorry to be so blunt, Margaret, but I think it better for you to know what to expect… To not be caught unawares. Do you understand?"

"I do", she whispered shakily.

"And… do I have your permission?"

She swallowed hard.

"Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

_"And… do I have your permission?"_

_She swallowed hard._

_"Yes."_

* * *

Her answer brought the sweetest expression on his face and she melted at the tenderness in his eyes. He bent to her and caught her lips again, softly first, then with increasing urgency. Once again, she felt his tongue on her lips. Instinctively, she parted them and felt it brush against hers. She returned the motion tentatively and was rewarded with a "God, yes" whispered against her lips. Meanwhile, his hand was still positioned between her legs and he started to stroke her there, cupping the warm flesh. She felt a flow of warmth pool there, causing a sweet ache that was all new to her, and very unsettling.

His hand travelled to the hem of her nightgown and he gently pulled it up to her waist. He was still kissing her when his hand resumed its position between her legs, this time on her bare flesh. She gasped at the bold contact. His fingers gently caressed her, discovering the wetness that seemed to have pooled there without her consent. Why was she wet? She wondered, mortified. He did not seem deterred by it, though. His fingers were like feathers and felt almost cold against her overheated flesh.

But then he stopped.

He knelt back up and in the semi-darkness, she could see that he was removing his clothes. Immediately, she lowered her eyes to give him privacy, blushing furiously.

His clothes discarded, he moved to cover her fully with his body, resituating the sheets carefully around them. She felt his bare legs entangle with hers, his broad chest pressed against her painfully erect breasts. And above all, she felt something hard against her midsection. Her heart beat wildly.  
She let him guide her into opening her legs to receive him.  
Bracing himself on top of her, he gently cradled her head between his elbows, and whispered to her ear: "I have heard that the first time can be painful. If it is too much, Margaret, you must tell me. I will stop immediately. Do you promise?"

Eyes tightly shut, she promised.

"You should hold on to me", he said with a last, swift kiss on her lips. She blindly obeyed, tightening her hold around his neck.

She understood that the moment she dreaded had come.  
Her head swam, lost in too many contradicting feelings, too much novelty, too overwhelming sensations. And because love and shame were the only feelings she could identify amidst all this, she did what she thought was best: she turned her inflamed face to the pillow next to her, forced back the unseemly swirl of sensations that she felt deep in her body, and gave herself to him with all the willingness and detachment she could summon.

He entered her slowly, but with determination, past her virginity, until he was fully sheathed within her.  
"Dear God", he gasped, eyes closed. Then he forced himself to stand still above her, looking down at her with anguish.

"Margaret, are you quite all right?"

Her face was still hidden against the pillow, but he could see the tense line of her jaw.  
The truth was, it did not hurt as much as she had expected. However, she was quite unprepared for the shocking feeling of him inside her, and it took her a few seconds to compose herself. Then, slightly lifting her face from the pillow, but not meeting his eyes, she replied "I am quite well, thank you". She was pleased at the evenness of her voice.  
The sting that she had felt inside was slowly ebbing, giving way to a soothing numbness.  
However, John seemed in no way close to the state of relaxation she was striving to achieve. He started to tremble, his eyes shut tightly, as if in pain.

"John, are you unwell?", she asked in alarm.

"Do you think you can bear it if I move, now?" he panted, his voice hoarse with the restraint he exerted to not thrust into her senselessly.

Not quite knowing what he meant, for she thought the encounter was over, she nodded in confusion. She felt him pull out of her, and push back in immediately, burying his face into the crook of her neck with a hissing sound. She took a deep breath to channel the pain that returned. She wondered what he was doing, but he repeated the motion, again and again. After the first few thrusts, the pain disappeared and she was surprised to feel her blood stir, as if ignited by his motions and radiating through her veins. She found the sensation unsettling, but not unpleasant. He continued to move within her and she held on to him, having no idea what he was trying to achieve, but quite willing to be of assistance. She still felt bewildered at the specifics of their marriage consummation, and at how deep he possessed her body, entering it with long, forceful thrusts. But his lips against her neck were so gentle, the endearments he murmured in her ear so achingly sweet, that she could not resent him.  
Suddenly, his thrusts became erratic.

"Margaret. I am sorry, I cannot..."

But he could not finish. Instead, a hoarse cry tore from his throat and she felt him shudder against her. She did not know what to think. She was quite sure that he was in pain but conjectured that it might be a natural part of the process. She stroked his back in sympathy, making a few shushing sounds to soothe him.

After a few moments, he collapsed next to her, his chest heaving, eyes closed.

"John, dearest, are you hurt?", she whispered urgently, worried at his lack of responsiveness.

He chuckled wearily and after a few seconds, he spoke with great effort.

"Quite the contrary, I assure you".

With great effort, he peeled his lethargic eyes open, and turned to her.

"What about you, love?", he inquired with concern, raising a hand to stroke her cheek tenderly.

"Do not worry on my account. I am perfectly all right." she said with a warm smile.

He returned her smile and leaned toward her to give her a soft, lingering kiss. Then, he climbed out of bed and disappeared in the washroom that was connected to her bedchamber. When he came back, he was holding a wet cloth. He kneeled next to her and pulled the sheets back to expose her.

"John, what are you doing?", she exclaimed in dismay. She hurriedly pulled her nightgown down to cover herself although, in the darkness, he probably could not see much.

"It is just... There might be blood." he explained softly.  
"I will take care of it. I am well." Mortified, Margaret started to wriggle out of the sheets.  
"I want to make sure of it. Please" he pleaded softly, "let me take care of you. It will ease my mind."

Unable to resist the rough velvet of his voice and the soft concern of his gaze, she reluctantly lay back, once again offering him free access to her.  
Parting her thighs with one strong hand, he brought the wet cloth to her center without raising her nightgown, for which she was grateful. Gently, he dabbed at her thighs and her swollen flesh, and the unmistakable smell of blood, mixed with a heady scent that she could not identify, hit her nose when he removed the cloth from her.

"There is not much", he said, maybe sensing her distress. "Are you sure you are not in pain?"  
"I am sure."

He discarded the cloth and crept back to her side underneath the sheets. He turned to her, took her hand and brought it to his mouth.

He gazed at her in silence, but she still felt ashamed and, unable to hold his eyes, she turned her face away for him. She kept his hand in hers, however, hoping he would understand that she was not angry. Just terribly embarrassed.

He did seem to understand, for he did not press her. Instead, he nuzzled her jaw and kissed the tender skin just below her ear. Then, he lay back to her side, quiet and thoughtful.

* * *

She had always thought that married couples slept in different beds after fulfilling their conjugal duties. And yet, that second night, John made no move to leave her bed.  
Still blushing hot with shame at what had just happened and conjecturing that, maybe, decency dictated that she take her leave and let him recover (for he seemed quite exhausted), she had mumbled "I bid you good night" and had proceeded to disentangle herself from the sheets to make her way out of the bed.

He had caught her wrist.

"Where are you going?" he murmured softly.  
"To… take my sleep elsewhere. I should let you rest properly", she answered, not daring to meet his eyes.

Although she knew that what he had done to her was inevitable, perfectly normal even, for a married couple, and not quite so distressing as she had expected, she was convinced she could never look at him again without losing her countenance.

"Margaret, this is your bed."  
"Yes."  
He still had his hand on her wrist and so she dare not move, but she would not turn to him either.

"Do you wish me to leave?"

She thought she detected a note of disappointment in his voice.

"I do not know", she said, "isn't it supposed to be this way?"  
"Only if you want it to be this way."  
"Forgive me, I do not mean to be rude. This is all very new to me…"  
"I certainly would not want to trespass on your privacy, Margaret", he said softly, stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb. "Marriage conventions are very new to me, too. It is only that I found it quite enjoyable to sleep next to you last night…"

"I enjoyed it too", Margaret assured quickly because he sounded unsure, and hurting his feelings was the last thing she wanted to do. The truth was, the embarrassment she had felt on the previous night quite superseded any sentiment of elation she might have experienced. However, she had had all day to mull it over and, remembering how considerate, how gentle he had been with her then, she had convinced herself that she definitely could get used to being held so tenderly in her sleep.

"Well, then. Shall we try again tonight? And, if you decide that you are not comfortable with our sleeping arrangement, you must tell me. I promise I will not take offence. I shall resume sleeping in my own bed."

With a bashful smile, Margaret slowly lied back next to him, and his hand found hers in the same manner as the previous night.

* * *

_A/N: So, this was the first night :-) I went into a little bit more detail than I initially planned, but I wanted to illustrate how little Margaret knows about sex, and how her education and background make it impossible for her to let go of her inhibitions. I wanted it as realistic as possible. So, no, Margaret didn't see fireworks :-) But this is John Thornton we're talking about here, so I'm not too worried for her. He's pretty single-minded ;-)_

_Please let me know what you think! Too detailed? Out-of-character? Do you think I exaggerate Margaret's inhibitions? I'm ready to hear anything, good or bad :-)_


	4. Chapter 4

"I would very much want to do it again." he says in a deep, low voice against her neck. He has just joined her in bed and they have been exchanging a few heated kisses, but he can sense that she is tense, even if she tries to hide it.

"Of course. I would not deny you. I shall do my best to accommodate your needs." she answers smoothly.

There is a moment of silence where he just leans on his side, stroking her cheek with his knuckles. He studies her face with a thoughtful expression that she cannot quite decipher.

Finally, he says:

"I would want it to be about your needs too, Margaret."

She is surprised at that.

"Excuse me?"

He gives her a long stare, and sighs.

"When we are together, like this, do you not feel anything at all?"

"I appreciate that you frequently inquire after my well-being", she smiles warmly. "You are very considerate, and I thank you for that."

"But I mean, in physical terms?"

Margaret blushes.

"John, I do not think it proper to speak of such things." she stammers.  
After a while, she adds in a firmer voice, "I am happy to be able to please you. I do not think it is considered proper for a woman to expect more than that from marital duties."

"Margaret", he sighs. "Whatever you have been told, would you please try to not take it at face value? There are only two people in this room. What passes between us is… Well, it is between us. I do not feel that third parties should have their say in that."

He looks at her intently. She looks lost and uneasy.

"I do not have much experience in such matters", he goes on, "so I can only trust my own instinct, but I tend to pay more heed to it than to what I hear around me. I would never force you into doing anything that… hurt your sensibilities. But would you please try and keep an open mind?"

A few seconds pass by. She nodds weakly.

"Thank you." he murmurs softly. Leaning in, he catches her lips again and feels her respond eagerly.

But the rest of her body remains like a statue.

* * *

Since their wedding, he has gone to her every night. When he takes her in his arms, her heartbeat picks up, and she is not sure apprehension is all there is to it. He is determined, but gentle. And when he looks at her in a certain way, she feels an ache in the pit of her belly that she has never known before.

She blushes because she knows she should not feel that way, when they are together, at night. It is improper. Unladylike. Or is it? She knows so little about wifely duties.  
The day before her wedding, Aunt Shaw had taken it upon herself to explain to her what was expected of a wife, leaving her little more enlightened and very apprehensive once she was through. Was it really something that "the prospect of children would help her bear up with courage"? Is that all there was to it? Why, then, does she feel a thrill of anticipation each time he reaches for her? Why does her heart start hammering in her chest whenever she allows herself to think of their nights together? What is this tension that she feels building inside her when he touches her, like a coiled spring, that leaves her raw and bereft when he finally collapses next to her?

* * *

"Come in", she says in a clear voice in answer to his knock.

She is sitting at her vanity, clad in her nightgown. She is unpinning her hair.  
He leans against the doorframe for a moment, watching her with soft eyes.

"You looked very beautiful tonight, Margaret."

She turns slightly towards him and smiles. Quietly, he steps in and comes to stand behind her.

"May I?" he says, gesturing toward her hair.

Without waiting for her reply, he sets himself to the task, dropping the pins into the little enameled box.

She watches him through the mirror. As often, his tall, commanding presence strikes her. She remembers the fascination she has felt toward him ever since she has first laid eyes on him. She remembers the unease, the shame she has felt at being unwillingly drawn to him even when she was quite convinced she loathed him. She has noticed that he seems to have the same effect on people. More than once during the ball, she witnessed the force of gravity he seems to exert effortlessly, unconsciously even. People are drawn to him. She even caught covert glances, fluttering fans and blushes tainting a few ladies's cheeks after he spoke but one word to them. Normally, she would have been quite amused by their little tricks. Except that she was not. She quite surprises herself at the indignation and possessiveness she has felt instead. She had hoped that, in time, she would get used to his presence and not be so strongly affected by it. But the truth is, she still feels her mind swirl and her skin strangely tingle whenever he enters a room.

Unaware of the scrutiny, John drops the last pin and runs a hand through the shiny mass of curls. He once again marvels at how different she looks when her hair is down. Vulnerable. Even more sensual.  
He catches her stare in the mirror and holds it. He notices the trouble in her eyes. The slight parting of her lips. The somewhat rapid rise and fall of her chest.

He knows these signs too well himself not to understand what they mean.

His hands comb through her hair again, fall to her shoulders. He can feel the hem of the boat neckline under his palms. All he has to do is to make it slide off of her shoulders, and she will be half-naked. He has never seen her in the nude so far. Each time he has initiated congress, he has made sure she was in the safe haven of darkness, in their bed, because he knows how apprehensive she has been.  
But they have been married for almost three months now.

He swallows. Without breaking eye-contact, he hooks his thumbs underneath the hem and slowly pulls the fabric down. One word from her would make him stop. But she stays silent. Her eyes are riveted to his.

The gown falls and pools around her hips.

John's eyes sustain hers for a few seconds, then slowly, they travel down to her throat, her shoulders, her breasts. He gazes at their soft and perfect roundness. He notices that her nipples are erect, a dark pink against her fair skin. He feels deeply moved by her beauty and the trust she is showing by allowing him to see her thus. He finally manages to tear his eyes away and makes it back to her face. His gaze is dead serious, so intense that she cannot hold it. Her face is entirely flushed.  
He raises one of his hands which were resting on her shoulders to her face. His knuckles tenderly graze her cheek, beckoning her to look at him.

"Margaret", he whispers.

She raises her head.

"Margaret, will you stand up for me?" he asks, and the roughness of his voice sends shivers down her spine.

She understands what he is asking. If she stands, her nightgown will fall to her feet and she will be entirely naked. She is quite sure she cannot bring herself to do it. It seems so indecent. But somehow, she feels completely hypnotized by the intensity of his voice, the soft plea in his eyes. If she thinks it over any longer, she will never do it. And she so does not want to disappoint him.

She takes the hand he is offering, and she stands up. The nightgown falls to the floor. Shame floods her and she immediately turns to him, burying her inflamed face against his chest. He clasps her close, one arm around her waist, the other around her neck, rocking her gently from side to side.  
She is painfully aware of her naked form against his fully-clothed body. Her mind is racing. She feels close to tears, and she does not know why.

"I am sorry", she rasps against his chest.  
"For what, my love?"  
"I know you wished I were more...I were less... I feel inadequate."

He gently pulled her away at arms length to look down at her, and she feels instantly cold, and so exposed.

"Inadequate? God, you could never be that."  
"But," she stammers, "you seem to expect me to behave in a way I have barely contemplated before, and... I cannot do it. I do not know how. I am failing you, obviously."  
"You are not. How can you even think that?" he counters, dumbfounded at her sudden distress.  
"I have never... nobody has ever talked to me of such things. Only Aunt Shaw briefly alluded to it just before we wed, and it did not seem like something I should... enjoy. In fact, the only times I have heard about... marital duties, it was my understanding that there were an inconvenience that couples needed to perform in order to beget."

She makes the mistake of raising her eyes to his, and the look of disbelief she witnesses makes her cringe.

"I see...", he breathes. His face is suddenly grave. He draws her to him again and stays silent for a minute. Finally, he speaks again, and when he does, the huskiness of his voice reverberates through her.

"Margaret… There are marriages of convenience, and in such marriages as those, marital duties are… well, duties, really." His voice becomes almost a whisper. "But when I come to you, at night, I can assure you that duty is quite the farthest thing from my mind." He uses his index finger to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I come to you, not because I must, but because I want to. Most passionately." His thumb brushes over her full lower lip and she trembles, flustered at his bluntness. "And I am not ashamed to say so."

Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, her skin flushed, her hair in disarray. At this moment, he wants nothing more than to take her to bed and quench his hunger for her.

Instead, he bends to her and catches her lips in a chast kiss.

"Come." he says soflty. "It is very late and you are tired. You should go to bed."  
She grasps the underlying meaning of his words. He will not ask more of her tonight. She feels an unsettling pang of disappointment.

"Maybe... Maybe you wish to be alone tonight?" he asks hesitantly.  
His chivalry makes her heart swell with love and for the first time, she is the one to initiate a kiss. She stands up on tiptoe and raises her lips to his. She feels his surprise for a fraction of a second, and then he hugs her even tighter and kisses her back fervently.

"No," she replies firmly when the kiss ends. "I am quite happy with our sleeping arrangement."

* * *

A/N: So, this was another chapter toward Margaret's sexual awakening and acceptance :-) I hope you liked it! Please feel free to review, I'll be happy to know your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi guys, first of all, I want to thank you all for your wonderful reviews. I haven't been able to answer them all, but each and __every one of them means a great deal to me and makes me grin stupidly at my screen._

_And then, I also want to apologize for taking so long to update. My girls have been sick, then I've been sick, then work got hectic... Not to mention that I am an extremely slow writer. English isn't my mother tongue, and it isn't always easy to write it, particularly when I try to describe movements. Odd, I know._

_Anyway, on with chapter 5!_

* * *

The following day, their conversation from the previous night is all she can think of. She tries to reconcile the things she took for granted with the things he said to her. The things he has made her feel.

He wanted to see her in the nude. She never stopped to think that married couples could bare themselves fully to each other, even in the haven of their bed, in the dark. She never stopped to think that her husband might desire that from her.  
The way he gazed at her naked form makes her feel hot with shame, and yet, if she is being honest with herself, it has also made her feel eager for his touch. This is what she has been struggling with since the beginning of their marriage. This rawness in her body, those tingles on her skin. This oddly sweet ache, low in her belly. She feels lightheaded with it. And those sensations are not altogether unpleasant, but they also make her feel guilty, and lewd. Oddly though, she does not see his actions as such. Everything that he does finds grace in her eyes, as if lewdness could only come from her, never from him.

She thinks again of everything that she heard before getting married. All those scary, repulsive reports. Those women complaining about their husband's attentions. Why is it that she does not feel the same? Is she different from them? Is John different from other husbands?  
She wishes there were somebody she could talk to about such matters. It would give her a starting place. A point of comparison. But the only person with whom she has ever shared secrets is Edith and, as dearly as she loves her cousin, she cannot bring herself to breach the subject with her. Just the thought of it brings a flush to her cheeks.

He has asked her to disregard what she has ever been told, and she admits that she has already demonstrated in the past how opinionated and independent she can be, how little she sometimes cares for decorum. But it is not so simple. Her opinions are strong only when she can defend them, document them, prove that she is right. She has forged them progressively out of what she sees around her, what she has learnt, and good common sense.  
This...This is uncharted territory for her. The only person she can rely on is her husband.

John.

Unbidden, memories from their previous nights together flow her mind. She closes her eyes, her reasoning stopped in its tracks by the sudden onslaught. She remembers his touch on her body. The words he whispered in her ear. The hungry expression in his eyes.

He said he followed his instincts.

* * *

That night, when he comes up to her room, he finds her sitting in front of the fireplace, staring at the fire.

"Good evening, dearest. Are you not in bed yet?"

His deep voice rumbles through her. She rushes to him, and he eagerly catches her and presses her against him. "This is my favourite time of the day. When I come back to you", he whispers against her ear, inhaling the sweet scent that wafts from her undone hair.  
"I wanted to wait for you."  
"You do not have to." he says, although he is glad that she did. "I am sorry that the reopening of the mill takes so much of my time. I promise things will be different when we go on our honeymoon."  
"We do what we must," she counters firmly. "Do not worry on my account, I do not feel neglected". For the second time, she raises herself to him and covers his mouth with her own. Immediately, his hand cups the back of her head and secures her to him. Their lips brush softly, slowly. She brings a hand to his face, carressing the rough stubble of his cheek, enjoying every second of the soft embrace that she has initiated. She can feel his fingers weaving themselves through her hair, his lips moving gently against hers, and then starting a path along her jaw, down to her throat. She starts to feel pleasant tingles down her spine and clings to him, breathing deeply to try and stay calm. She has thought about something that she wants to do, more of a longing, really, and she slowly works up the courage to do it. Slowly, her hand falls to his cravat. So eager was he to see his wife that he has not taken the time to undo it. She gently fingers the piece of black silk and finally makes up her mind. She catches the loose end, and pulls at it. The knot obediently unravels and slips through her fingers. His kisses at her neck stop instantly and for a wild, frantic moment, she is terrified that he might think her too forward. Her heart is beating hard, and she dares not move. His face is still buried against her neck and she wishes he would stay there forever so that she would not have to face his disapproval.

But then, he slowly pulls back to face her again and gently presses his forehead against hers. Their eyes meet and she is instantly swept back to that day at the train station. He is gazing at her with the same open, adoring expression, a slightly mischievious smile tugging at his lips. She cannot help but smile back although she feels herself blush crimson under the suggestiveness of his gaze. He releases his hold on her head and instead takes her hand in his and brings it back up to his now bare throat, guiding her fingers to the first button of his shirt. He pauses there, gauging her reaction. He looks expectant, but intent, too. Her eyes are riveted to the hollow of his throat, still half-covered with the neckline of his shirt. Her trembling fingers slip under the fabric there and gently push the first button out. One by one, she removes them until she reaches the v-line of his waistcoat. She slowly unbuttons it, too. When she is done, John discards it to the floor without a spare glance. His eyes are on her only. Margaret returns her attention to the remaining buttons on his shirt. As the garment falls open, she discovers a beautifully defined chest and gently fingers the coarse and dark hair that she has only ever felt against her, and never seen before.  
When she reaches the hem of his shirt, where it is tucked in his trousers, she slows down. Sensing her hesitation, he grabs the fabric and frees it from the waisband.

With a tender smile, he then presents her his cuffs, which are secured by finely crafted silver cufflinks. There is something vulnerable in the way he is standing in front of her with his wrists turned outward, his palms half open. Something that moves her deeply. She brings one of his hands to her lips and places a lingering kiss on his palm, before removing the cufflink. She repeats the motion with the other wrist. When she is done, she looks up and finds him still gazing at her with so much hope and wonder that without thinking, she puts her arms around his neck and kisses him again fervently. Not quite recognizing herself, she lets her palms slide up his chest and feels the muscles ripple under her touch. She traces the curves of his shoulders, letting the shirt slide off of them in the process. The garment lands on the floor and she realizes her husband is now half-naked in her bedroom, with the candles still burning. Her mind starts to swirl, his kisses stealing her breath, growing bolder by the second. He gently coaxes her into opening her mouth and when she feels the tip of his tongue on her lips, she shivers. One of his hands reaches between them and falls upon the bow that closes her nightgown. "May I?", he whispers hoarsely against her lips, and she gives a weak nod. It is happening again, this onslaught of burning sensations, this dizzying rush of blood. It is happening again and she steels herself against it, her fears surging up again. She feels him bare one of her shoulders and kiss a trail of fire down her neck, along her clavicle. His mouth follows the milky roundness of her shoulder and nibbles her gently there. She gasps at the sensation, breathing hard. He continues to kiss and lap his way down to her breast, and loosens her nightgown further to uncover it. One of his hands catches her calf and strokes its way up to her thigh, hitching it up and around his waist. His mouth closes on her nipple.

"This is too much. Too much" she thinks. She must calm down, or she will drown.

She stiffens against him.

Immediately, he breaks the embrace and steps back.

"I am sorry", he says quite formally, and she can sense that he is hurt.

"Please, do not!", she exclaims in dismay, immediately reclaiming the space between them. She places her hands on his chest and there is an apology in her eyes.

"You do not have to do this, Margaret. It is quite all right." He remains in the same stiff posture.

"I am quite willing", she pleads.

"Margaret, you do not have to pretend."

There is an edge to his voice. She knows he is trying to rein in some strong emotion for her sake.

"Forgive me for pulling away... I do welcome your embrace."

He lets out a derisive huff, and she feels her temper rise.

"I do!" she insists hotly, scowling at him, her breath still laboured.

"Do you, indeed?" he finally bursts out, his voice hoarse, the lines of his mouth bitter. "Do you think I cannot feel your reluctance? Do you think I do not sense your withdrawal when I take you in my arms? Every time I come to you, it seems like it takes everything that you have to not flee from me. And even then, you keep so still that I feel like I am...like you are..." He stops short, lowering his chin and closing his eyes briefly. He takes a deep breath, then sighs.

"Never mind." he says more calmly. "Forgive me for my harsh words. I did not mean them." He passes a hand over his face. "I have had a long day, and so have you, and... let us just leave it at that and go to sleep, shall we?"

Already, he pulls away from her and strides toward the adjoining room to change his clothes.

"No." he hears in his back. Taken aback, he slowly turns on his heels, only to find her staring hard at him, her fists clenched at her sides.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I do not want to leave it at that. Do not dismiss me like you just have, John. It is most unfair."

It is their first quarrel since their engagement and with a pang, she is brought back to the early days of their relationship, full of misunderstandings, disagreements and resentment. He seems to share her thoughts, because his expression suddenly softens and he comes back to her.

"You are right, of course. Come, dearest. Let us not quarrel."

He takes her face between his hands and gives her a soft kiss, before pulling her back against him. Relief washes over her, that he bears her no grudge.

"John", she murmurs against his bare chest, tracing his shoulders with her hands. "Please understand... I do love you. With all my heart. But... When we are together, like this, sometimes... Sometimes I feel so many things at once, and..."

"So you do feel something?", he cuts her almost sharply, his eyes intent on her.

"Yes."

A glimmer of relief crosses his features.

"And is it very unpleasant, then?"

"Not unpleasant. But... very unsettling. And I do not know what to make of it."

"You do not need to make something out of it, Margaret", he replies softly. "That is the whole point, actually. You just... let it flow."

"And then what?"

"And then..."

He does not finish, a blush creeping up his neck. He clears his throat to hide his own embarrassment. He is much more at ease than her discussing such private matters, but even he has his limits.

"It would be easier to show you", he murmurs with a shy smile.

* * *

_So, next chapter is going to get quite interesting, I think ;-)_

_Once again, please feel free to review and to point out any awkward phrasing! Thank you for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6

_"You do not need to make something out of it, Margaret", he replies softly. "That is the whole point, actually. You just... let it flow."_

_"And then what?"_

_"And then..."_

_He does not finish, a blush creeping up his neck. He clears his throat to hide his own embarrassment. He is much more at ease than her discussing such private matters, but even he has his limits._

_"It would be easier to show you", he murmurs with a shy smile._

* * *

She can sense his hesitation as his words sink in. She looks up, and he gazes back at her, quiet and expectant. She understands that whatever he means to do, is bound to mark a turning point in their married life. Because she will have to surrender fully or let him down, and she promises herself that she will not do the latter.

"Can we... Can we blow out the candles?" she asks.

Interpreting her request as a refusal, he quickly hides the disappointment that has crossed his features, and leaves her for a moment to do as she bids. As the room progressively falls into darkness, she tries to gather up some courage. Taking a deep breath, she pulls her nightgown over her head and comes to stand by the bed, her arms wrapped around herself self-consciously.  
When he turns back, his eyes have not grown accustomed to the darkness yet but he makes out her silhouette and goes to her, his arms outstretched. His hands encounter the bare flesh of her hips and he stifles a gasp of surprise. His hands move up to her ribcage, then hesitantly down again, right where the curves of her derriere begin.

"Show me, then", she whispers, because she does not trust herself to speak up.

And so he does.

His hands bring her flush against him, and he buries his face against her neck. "My love", he breathes against her pulse point. The endearment and the roughness of his voice make her shiver. She closes her eyes and tilts her head to allow him better access. His mouth is hot against the tender skin. She feels his tongue lap at the column of her throat, and then his teeth gently nibble their way alongside her jaw and up to her earlobe. He circles it with his tongue and then sucks hard. He has never done that to her before. She feels like he is pulling an invisible string that stirs that place between her legs, deep inside her, where he so often makes her ache. The sensation is so vivid that she moans and once again freezes, petrified by her unseemly reaction.

"No, Margaret", he gently scolds, and his warm breath tickles the soft skin behind her ear, making her shiver again. "Do not hold back. I need to know when I am doing this right."

He strokes her back, and she gradually relaxes.

"So, where were we?" he asks with mischief, caressing her earlobe between his thumb and index.

She cannot help but let out a throaty laugh at his boldness. Encouraged by her response, he catches the fleshy nub between his teeth again, and she clings to his shoulders, the sensation so intense that it is almost unbearable. She moans again, and the sound of it sends a jolt straight to his loins.

Without stopping his ministrations, he takes hold of her hand and spins her around swiftly, so that now she has her back against him. He is very aware of his painful erection straining against his trousers, and he wonders if, by now, she has come to understand what it means. She lets out a gasp of surprise at his move, feeling more exposed than ever. But she forces herself to focus on what he is doing to her, instead of what is going through her mind. And the things he is doing to her... One of his hands has cupped her right breast while the other is splayed possessively over her belly. He is still worrying her ear. And his hand slips lower... She feels like she is slowly losing her mind. Her head is lolling back against his shoulder and she finds herself blindly reaching for support, gripping his strong thighs from behind. She can feel the proof of his desire pressing against her back and the sweet throbbing between her legs only deepens at the realization. She gasps his name in a voice that she does not recognize.

"Look", he answers, breathless as well. "Look in the mirror. Look at you."

Now accustomed to the darkness, she realizes that the moonlight casts a soft glow that dimly reflects the contours of her body through the mirror of the vanity. She can make out his hands moving over her. She can make out the parting of her thighs and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She can feel the burn of his stare through the glass. Overwhelmed, she buries her inflamed face against his neck.

"Do not hide", he entreats her. "You are so beautiful. How could this, between us, ever be wrong?"

Turning back to him, she seeks his mouth in a desperate attempt to divert his attention. Immediately, his dislodged hands catch her by the waist and he meets her lips with furious eagerness. Backing her up against the bed, he swiftly topples her onto the mattress and follows her there, reclaiming her mouth while sliding his hand down between her legs again. He feels her whimper against his lips and breaks the kiss.

"Tell me what feels good, Margaret", he urges, his fingers running feverishly against her damp flesh.

"I cannot", she murmurs, her eyes tightly shut, her fingers digging in his shoulders.

"Yes, you can", he insists. "I want you to. I need you to. Margaret, please! Let me take you there with me."

With his thumb, he is softly touching a place that sends jolts through her core and she gasps, her mind swirling. Something is building inside her, something powerful that seems unescapable and have her bite her lower lip.

"Should I stop?", he asks with a raspy voice, although he is not slowing down. His eyes are burning into hers and with his other hand, he is softly stroking her cheek, applying gentle pressure to make her look at him. Eventually, she does.

Her eyes are blurry, her mouth slightly parted, beguiling. He bends to her but stops a few millimeters from her lips, barely grazing them, gently taunting her. Their breath mingle, almost as intimately as what he is doing to her down there.

She stays silent for a moment, lost for words. She feels like he is stripping her bare all over again. All the claims he is making on her body tonight make her feel more than naked, because her flesh is not the only part of her falling under his spell; She can feel the barrier that her mind has erected against his touch become a blurry line.

"No," she breathes. "Do not stop."

And so he does not. His fingers work untiringly against her soft flesh, drawing patterns, sometimes going faster, sometimes slower. She will not guide him with words, but her body responses are more eloquent. She lets out soft gasps and half-stifled moans, and her fingers flex hard against his back. Sometimes, her hips rise up from the bed, as if to meet his hand. She is driving him wild with desire.

It might have lasted a few minutes or a few hours and during all that time, she holds on to his stare like to an anchor. She does not know what he expects of her but she senses that it has to do with this terrifying climb she can feel deep inside her. It is there, elusive yet but getting more and more inevitable with each caress. His fingers have gone bolder and he is now grazing at her entrance, barely entering her, but hitting a sizzling spot just there.  
And then, just as he nuzzles his way to her earlobe again, it happens. She suddenly feels her blood explode and submerge her. She arches tightly against him and lets out a sharp cry that reverberates through the room. For a few seconds, the world blurs and fades around her, replaced by an intense, blinding light that shoots through her. She gasps uncontrollably, and her body trembles with deep convulsions which drive her like a magnet against his body.

Her breath eventually slows down and her hold on his neck loosens enough for him to look at her. In her flushed face, her eyes are huge and bright, gazing at him with wonder. They stay quiet for a moment. He gently strokes her cheek with such a tender expression that she has never felt more cherished in her life. After a few soothing, feather-light strokes on her sex, he brings his hand back to frame her face.

"Are you all right?", he asks with infinite tenderness.

She nods quietly.

"How did you know?" she finally whispers.

"I... had heard", he answers, and for a split second, he fears she might ask him to elaborate. He is quite sure she would not care for how this piece of knowledge came into his possession. But she does not press on. Instead, she lifts her face to him and languidly kisses him. The warmth of her body moulded against his brings him back to his own need, so fiercely that he almost shakes with the force of it. She senses the urgency in his response, because her hands slide down to the small of his back, and she shyly presses it down against her.

Her suggestive gesture arouses him as much as it surprises him. He searches her eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asks, hoping very much that she is, lest he combust spontaneously.

Her only answer is to trace his waistband until she reaches the buttons at the front. With trembling fingers, she undoes them one by one and awkwardly tries to push the trousers down his legs. He eagerly comes to her rescue and quickly frees himself from the garment. He forces himself to slow down and, with gentle fingers, he makes sure she is still ready for him before lowering himself onto her. One of his hands settles on her thigh, the other on her cheek.

"I love you", he murmurs against her lips, and he enters her with one long, graceful thrust. They both gasp, clinging to each other. This time, when he pushes in again, she allows the sensations to flow through her. She is quite sure she will feel mortified at her lack of restraint when morning comes, but for now she feels boneless and exquisitely sensitive everywhere after the wave that has submerged her. With each thrust, she lets out soft gasps against his neck. Her hands roam over his back, her fingers digging into his flesh whenever he hits a certain spot inside her. This new abandon from her proves to be his undoing. With one final push inside her, he shatters into a million pieces, his powerful climax heightened by the ardour of her response, her name on his lips. She fiercely clutches him against her, finally knowing the spell he is under and holding him through it like he did for her.

After that, they stay quiet, reverently gazing at each other until exhaustion claims them, and they fall asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for your ongoing support and your wonderful reviews! I intend to continue this story for a bit, if only to write a "morning after" session ;-) I do apologize for being such a slow updater. I don't do it on purpose, I really am **that** slow :-)_

_Please do not hesitate to leave reviews, good or bad!_


	7. Chapter 7

_So, I'm finally back with another chapter and quite ashamed for letting you hang about while I was so unproductive. The truth is, each sentence as a struggle. Words just wouldn't come. Now that they have, I hope they'll earn your attention and that they won't disappoint! Just so you know, the next chapter is almost ready (it was initially only one, long chapter but I've decided to split it in two to avoid too much length discrepancy between chapters), I'll post it before the end of the week._

_This story is actually coming to a close and next chapter will probably contain an epilogue, so as not to make you guys wait for other chapters that may never come. It's not that I don't have ideas, it's just that I have problems phrasing them. For instance, I've been toying with the idea of John having supper at his club with the other mill owners, and them asking him and teasing him about married life, but I'm not confortable enough with Victorian idioms and general way of life to produce something plausible. Actually, you know what? This could be fic challenge material. Mmm. Quite loving this idea. Anyway._

_Here you go. This is short, but please keep in mind that the rest will follow soon. If you feel up to it, it might be a good idea to re-read the previous chapter, since it's been a long time..._

* * *

He wakes up to a chilly morning and a sleeping wife who, at some point during the night, has deprived him from sheets and blanket altogether.

He is facing her back and props himself on an elbow to peek at her. She has tucked the sheets up so high that all he can see is the tip of her nose and the gentle swell of a cheek upon which lowered eyelashes cast a faint shadow. The long tresses of her hair follow the folds and creases of the sheets in a lush wave. She is the picture of loveliness.

Images of her from last night flow his mind. He remembers his emotion when he discovered her nakedness in the dark. Her trembling willingness. Her trembling surrender. The slow build of her responses to him and the few precious seconds when her body suddenly arched up against his, are forever engraved in his mind. He cannot begin to describe the relief he has felt, he who had been fearing for the past few months that she might be immune to his touch.

He smiles as he remembers her shy, hesitant attempt at undressing him, and the heart-stopping moment when she actually dared to unbutton his trousers. The memory of it comes with a powerful wave of arousal and he cannot help but closing the distance between them. He leans in and nuzzles the soft hair behind her ear, placing a soft kiss there as he simultaneously tries to reclaim part of the sheets, gently disentangling them from his wife's sleeping form and drawing them back to him.

A sudden stiffening of her whole body alerts him to her waking up and his lips curve up against her skin.

"Good morning", he rasps against her neck, his deep voice on her pulse point, making her shiver. His hand snakes under the sheets and slowly slides up her arm, finding the roundness of her shoulder.

She immediately stiffens further, her state of nakedness and the cause of it coming back to her with vivid clarity.

"Should I infer, from your blatant claim on the bed linens, that I am no longer welcome to your bed?" he asks playfully.

She turns to him in surprise and finds herself nose to nose with her husband, only covered from the waist down with the sheets he is still trying to pull back around him.

"I am sorry", she says hurriedly, sliding the soft cotton fabric towards him. She takes advantage of the rustling to move away from him, tucking the sheet high against her. She leans back against her pillow, at a safe distance from him. She avoids his gaze. He notices her not-so-subtle jib and feels a pang of disappointment, but makes no comment. He is still leaning on his shoulder, facing her profile.

"Have you slept well?"

"Very well", she says in a falsely cheerful voice which fails to hide her uneasiness, "And you?"

Although he is not fooled by her behaviour, he refuses to let it tamper his elated mood. He reaches for one of her hands and brings it to his mouth, then turns it palm up and applies his lips on the inside of her wrist.  
She is drawn to his gaze and cannot help but return it with a shy smile, losing herself for a moment in the tender intensity of his blue eyes, the handsomeness of his features. She dares not let her eyes wander to the rest of him. The insistent touch of his lips makes her skin tingle and she suppresses a shiver.  
She needs time to herself to think on what happened on the previous night. Already she can feel the strange pull that this simple touch has on her body.

She swallows and withdraws her hand.

"Please excuse me, but I would like to freshen up a bit. I will have Dixon draw me a bath. I... Would you please turn around while I..."

She trails off, embarrassed, but he understands. Stifling a sigh, he obligingly turns his back to her.

For some reason, indulging in a bit of a lie-in has lost all its appeal.

* * *

She catches her reflexion in the mirror, surprised and relieved to see no noticeable difference in her features. She does not know what she expected, after last night experience. An indelible trace on her face? A permanent flush for all the world to see? Just the brief thought of what happened brings said flush to her face and she turns round, unable to hold her own eyes. What possessed her to behave in such a shameless way? What must he think of her? Part of her knows that this is exactly what he expected of her. She has done what he wanted of her. But what if he got more than he had bargained for and has come to regret what happened? Surely no husband would want his wife to behave in such an unladylike manner... And the sounds that she made! She cringes and buries her face in her hands. He will never look at her the same way again. She can never meet his eyes again.

"Your bath is ready, miss".

Dixon busts into Margaret's dressing room, effectively ending her bout of despair. She composes herself to avoid unwanted questioning and coddling from her overzealous servant, and she quickly divests herself of her nightgown, stepping into the warm water.

* * *

When she enters the breakfast room, he is already there, sipping a cup of tea with the newspaper laid next to him. He greets her with a warm smile, but immediately returns his attention to the article he is reading.

She sits down opposite him and helps herself to a bowl of freshly sliced fruit. The room is bathed in sunlight and the house is bustling with activity around them. In this atmosphere, she finds it easier to regain her countenance and to go over the earlier events. She does not go as far as last night, for doing so would cause her to turn crimson. But she allows herself to remember the tender and playful moment that they have shared upon her waking up and she feels a pang of regret at her abrupt withdrawal from him. She decides to make amends.

"Will you go with me to church this morning, John?"

"Of course", he answers behind his newspaper.

"I wonder... the weather seems quite warm today. Would you care for a walk after the service, and maybe a picnic in some nice spot of your choice?"

He slowly lowers the newspaper and their eyes meet, hers seeking a truce. She does not have to wait long.

"I would love to", he answers warmly.

"I am glad."

She reaches across the table and clasps his hand. He returns the pressure with a boyish grin.

* * *

They stand side by side, dutifully voicing the responses of the psalm sung by the priest, but Margaret's mind is elsewhere. She is all too aware of her husband's proximity, of his strong presence radiating through her. She loses track of the responses and gets the next one wrong. Flushed, she falls quiet. From the corner of her eye, she can see John briefly glancing down at her with a puzzled expression and she feels mortified. She silently berates herself and, with great effort, turns her attention back to the priest.

* * *

"Are you well, Margaret?" he inquires as they leave the church. "You seemed lost in your thoughts earlier on."

She feels better now that they are outside and she allows herself to wave the incident off with a laugh.

"My mind was otherwise engaged, I must confess. But I have rallied quite beautifully in the end, did you not think?"

"If you are referring to the ringing 'Amen' you gave at the end of the service and which nearly broke my eardrum, yes indeed", he agrees, the corners of his mouth twitching.

She raps his arm playfully and he retaliates by trapping her arm under his as they walk away.

"So, where shall we have this picnic?"

"I know a very nice spot not far from here. Quiet. Secluded. I think you will like it."

As they cross the street, Margaret's eye is caught by an embracing couple strolling about, stopping now and then in front of a shop window, exchanging loving gazes.

"Why are you looking so intently at this young couple, Margaret?" her husband asks with amusement.

Caught unawares, she takes a second or two to answer.

"I was thinking that they seemed in love."

"Indeed."

"And that they must have married quite recently."

"So it seems", he agrees mildly.

"And I was wondering if... if they are anything like us."

He glances at her, puzzled at her train of thoughts. When he sees a blush grace her cheeks, he finally catches her meaning.

"Margaret, are you actually wondering if they are happy in the marriage bed?"

He sounds incredulous, and from red, Margaret goes crimson. Slipping her arm away from him, she hastens her pace, not caring where she is going as long as she finds a place to lock herself up and hide her shame. she hears him chuckle as he easily catches up with her, grabbing her arm. She turns her face away from him and he chuckles again.

"Curiosity is a sin", he says silkily.

She wants to snap at him, but the boyish grin that enlightens his features takes her breath away instead.

"Here we are."

Margaret realizes that they are now standing in front of a small, rounded door, and that John is holding a rusty key in his hand.

He introduces it in the keyhole, and, after a few tries, the door swings open.

"After you", he says, stepping aside to let her in.

* * *

_A/N: __Thank you so much for reading and for putting up with my tardiness!_ As usual, please do not hesitate to point out my mistakes, or to leave a review if you liked/disliked it :-)  



	8. Chapter 8

_First of all, thank you for your great feedback! I try to answer them all, unfortunately some of you leave a comment without logging in, which prevents me from getting back to you. For those, I can only answer here: thank you, your reviews make my day! :-)_

_This isn't the last chapter, since it was getting too long again so I'm splitting it up. I think next one will be the last one, and I'll be posting it soon._

* * *

As she walks in, she is immediately taken by the beauty of her surroundings. She is standing in a luxuriant garden full of wild flowers and untrimmed bushes, flanked by high stone walls covered in ivy.

"I used to come here as a boy, when I wanted a bit of time to myself." He closes the door behind them. "What do you think?"

"It is beautiful", she exclaims in wonder, turning to him with a delighted smile. "Is it yours?"

"Strictly speaking, it is not." He places a hand on the small of her back to lead her to a patch of grass under an oak and puts the picnic basket down. "It was owned by a draper I worked for as a boy. He was a kind man, and fond of me I believe. He gave me the key one day, and told me to come here whenever I felt like it. He died some time ago. When I tried to return the key to his wife, she asked me to keep it in memory of him."

Reaching in the basket, he pulls out a blanket which he spreads on the grass and starts to lay out the food. Gathering the hem of her dress, Margaret sits down opposite him.

She smiles at the thought of the child he must have been then, but she is quickly brought back to reality as he removes his tie, coat and waistcoat, and casually leans on one elbow, one of his legs stretched, the other bent. Despite his relaxed posture, he exudes a level of strength and self-assurance that makes her think of anything but the boy he once was. She is suddenly even more aware of his physical presence than usual. She has rarely seen him so unstudied before and her heartbeat picks up, as if witnessing something extremely private. Except that this is her husband, and that everybody would expect her to be familiar -and confortable- with this.

She tries to ignore the wave of heat pooling in her stomach.

Instead, she reaches for the bottle of cider and pours them two glasses.

"To our first picnic", he toasts.

They start to eat, discussing small topics, taking obvious pleasure in each other's company. As they discuss the reopening of the mill, Margaret reflects on how far she has come, from her initial disgust and disregard toward trading matters, to her now genuine interest in broaching the topic with her husband. Pride swells in her, seeing him so knowledgeable, so strong and poised. She never would have thought she could ever love such a man, and yet, she has fallen for him so unconditionnally that she can barely recognize herself in the woman she was just a year ago.

"A penny for your thoughts", she suddenly hears, and she realizes that she has been staring at him without really listening to what he was saying, lost in the sight of him. She shakes her head dismissively, a smile playing on her lips.

"What has you smiling so?" he asks softly, amused by her dreamy expression.

Her smile widens.

"I was thinking about... How dear you have become to me." She swallows and her smile slowly fades. "And how I misjudged you in the past."

Sensing her mood change, he reaches forward to caress her cheek with the back of his fingers.

Something lodges in her throat at the tenderness of his gesture. Their eyes meet, hers slightly blurry.

"Can you ever forgive me?", she whispers.

"There is nothing to forgive", he counters gently. "And if there was, you would have my forgiveness without even asking for it. Don't you know? One look at you is all it takes to disarm me."

She closes her eyes to fight back the tears of emotion that threaten to fall and leans in in his touch.

They remain silent for a moment, neither of them moving.

"Dessert?" John eventually suggests with a cheerful voice in an attempt to lift her mood.

She smiles, her ruefulness quickly forgotten at seeing his boyish eagerness.

"Cherries", she announces.

They share the fruit, the conversation drifting to lighter topics. As she reaches for the last cherry from the bowl on her lap, he points at something on her right.

"Look out!" he exclaims.

She turns her head and, taking advantage, he swiftly grabs the cherry. Unable to see anything out of the ordinary and sensing his movement, she turns back to him, a puzzled expression on her face. His eyes are dancing with mischief. She glances down at the now empty bowl, then up at him.

"Thief!" she accuses, unable to suppress a smile at his cheeky expression. "You must give it back", she says in what she hopes is a threatening tone.

"If you want it, you must come and get it", he counters, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Her eyes widens slightly at the suggestiveness of his voice and her heart skips a beat. She slowly leans toward him to catch the cherry dangling from his fingers, but he playfully pulls it out of reach, forcing her to lean in further into him until her chest is pressed against his, her arm extended above his shoulder in an attempt to catch the cherry. Her neck is tantalizingly stretched just a breath away from his lips. A few inches above, her delicately-shaped ear reminds him of her response to his teasing the previous night, and suddenly, nothing else matters but to elicite those sounds from her throat again. Swiftly, he leans forward and closes his lips around her earlobe. She stops mid-motion with a soft gasp, her hands seeking purchase on his shoulders.

She has been craving this physical closeness and has eagerly risen up to his challenge, knowing perfectly well that he would take advantage of the situation. But she is still taken unawares by his angle of attack. No sooner has he touched her ear that her body betrays her as it did the previous night. She feels a deep shiver run through her pulse point and her eyes close of their own accord.

"John", she breathes.

He does not release her. His hands fall to her waist, spanning it tightly, the cherry all but forgotten. He nuzzles the tender, softly fragrant skin right below her ear, then returns his attention to her ear, nibbling at the lobe.  
Her heart is pounding in her chest. Feeling lightheaded, she grabs his shoulders more tightly for support.

"I have wanted you all morning", he whispers huskily, and she trembles. One of his hands finds the front buttons of her dress and deftly removes the top three, slipping inside. He presses firmly on the top swell of her breasts to feel her heart. Then his fingers trace the contour of one breast, cupping it, swiping over her nipple with his thumb. He releases her ear to claim her mouth instead. Although consumed with want, she still manages to slightly push him away.

"John!" she pants, "it is daylight. It is only noon!"

"So it is", he acknowledges, supremely unconcerned. He leans in again. A moan passes her lips, muffled by his own, and he takes advantage of her parting lips to deepen the kiss, his tongue hot and caressing in her mouth. His other hand traces the outline of her folded legs until he reaches her ankle, sliding under the bottom hem of her dress, easing her drawers up above her knee.

A voice inside her protests that someone might walk in on them, that this is a semi-private place, and that she does not want him to see her in such a state by broad daylight. But a much louder voice only wants to trust him and to feel again what he gave her last night.  
And so she finds herself encircling his neck with her arms and following his lead as he lies down on the grass.

Lost in each other, they do not feel the first drops of rain fall on them. But the splatter quickly turns into a violent downpour and in a matter of seconds, they find themselves soaked. Reluctantly brought back to reality, they break the kiss and look heavenward in dismay.

"Come", John rasps, seizing her elbow to help her up. "Let us take this home."

* * *

As they reach the house, both more breathless with anticipation than with exertion, they suddenly hear a high-pitched voice that they know all too well and, just like that, the perspective of a tête-à-tête vanishes into thin air.

With a resigned expression, John enters the drawing room, Margaret in his wake.

"John! Margaret! Here you are at last!", Fanny shrieks upon seeing them. "You will never guess what news we bring!"

"Thornton, old fellow!" Watson chuckles, taking in their sodden appearance, "Whatever has happened to you and Mrs Thornton?"

"We merely got caught by the rain", John answers composedly, stepping forward to shake his brother-in-law's hand and planting a quick peck on her sister's cheek.

Quickly hiding her frustration, Margaret forces a polite smile on her face and greets their unexpected guests with all the good grace she can muster.

"I was supposed to be over at the Watsons' this afternoon, but Fanny had something to tell you and thought it better to come instead", Hannah Thornton explains in the background, perhaps sensing the untimeliness of the visit.

"And what might that be, Fanny?" John asks good-humouredly, shaking off his coat.

"Can you not guess? I am expecting!"

Although Fanny and her husband's air of pride and self-importance had already given it away, Margaret and John play their part and feign surprise.

"I believe congratulations are in order, Watson", John says with a crooked smile, giving a hearty pat on his brother-in-law's shoulder.

Putting on a good face and carefully avoiding each other's eyes, they call for tea and decanters while Fanny launches herself into a detailed description of the baby's future trousseau, quite determined to enjoy her hour of glory _at length_.

* * *

After dinner, as the night closes in, Margaret grows more and more fidgety. Eventually, she drops her needlework.

"I am very tired. If you will excuse me, Mother, John, I believe I shall retire for the night", she announces, rising up from her armchair.

Hannah Thornton cocks an eyebrow at her but soon resumes her own needlework after bidding her daughter-in-law a quick good night.

"I believe I will do the same", John states calmly, barely looking up from the book he is reading.

Relief and apprehension flow her in equal measure. She nods to no one in particular and turns away, quickly heading toward her rooms.

As he slowly walks the path to their chambers, his thoughts are full of her. It frightens him, how sometimes having her is the only thing he can think of, whether he is at the mill or at the club. How the image of sheathing himself in the cradle of her thighs floods his mind at the most inopportune moments. He, who has always taken pride in his self-control. But the worst part is, even when he is with her, he still wants her. More. All of her. He has her willingness, but it is not enough. He wants her eagerness. He wants to know that the relentless desire that he feels for her is matched by her own, that he is not the only one suffering this... madness. Too often does he find himself wondering if she really loves him, at least in that way. She has chosen him, in the end, that much is true. But she is not of the demonstrative type, and sometimes, it is hard to convince himself that her constant composure hides true feelings for him, let alone physical longing. He has seen glimpses of it, though. Sometimes, it is the way she gazes at him in a room full of people, or her breathing quickening when he comes close to her.

It is not enough. Tonight, he needs to be sure of it.

He softly knocks twice on the door and lets himself in. She is already in bed, lying on her side, facing him with her hands tucked under her cheek. She smiles at him and her face seems alight with something close to anticipation, if he reads her right. He returns the smile and goes to snuff out the candles. In the semi-darkness, he quickly gets undressed, only keeping a shirt and a pair of white trousers, a habit he has taken since they have been married to preserve her modesty. He quietly slips into bed next to her and leans over her to kiss her lips tenderly. He senses her moving closer to him and gradually leaning on her back to prepare herself for what she believes is to come. Her readiness almost gets the better of his resolution, but he collects himself, and gently breaks the kiss. He leans back into the mattress, moving slightly away from her in the process.

"Good night, Margaret", he says.

There is a moment of heavy silence that betrays her surprise, and, dare he hope, her disappointment? Then her voice wafts in the air, an unsure quality to it:

"Good night, John".

* * *

_A/N: Do you think Margaret will overcome her shame and voice what she wants, or will she just silently pine for him all night? ;-) I'll update soon. Thanks for reading, comments more than welcome as usual!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hi all! I'd gladly apologize for the lateness as usual, but i fear this might be getting quite repetitive and tiresome :-) So I'll just say this: this is the final chapter, with a small epilogue at the end. Please consider this story as complete._

_If I ever find enough inspiration, I might post a few random one-shots as companions to this piece. But please do not hold your breath and if it happens, it will hopefully come as a pleasant surprise :-)_

_I'd like to thank you all for reading and taking the time to comment. I try to answer you all but I've fallen behind since the last chapter. I'll try to fix that soon. Each and every message I receive from you brings a huge grin to my face, so please do not hesitate to let me know your thoughts about this finale, good or bad, mistakes or things I did right, I'll take them all :-) And thanks again, so much, for tagging along and for bearing with my preposterous slowness ;-) Much, much appreciated!_

_Last thing before I leave you alone: you might want to re-read the last two chapters before, since this one picks up right after and, er, it's been a while :-)_

* * *

_"Good night, Margaret", he says._

_There is a moment of heavy silence that betrays her surprise, and, dare he hope, her disappointment? Then her voice wafts in the air, an unsure quality to it:_

_"Good night, John"._

* * *

She has been staring helplessly at the ceiling for the better part of a half-hour. She cannot believe he has not reached for her tonight. He is actually lying casually next to her, only meaning to sleep. The cheek! Does he no longer love her then?  
She tries to reason herself. Surely married people do not engage in marital congress every single night. She will not blow this... incident out of proportions. She will quietly go to sleep and maybe tomorrow... or the day after...

Or maybe she will just go insane with frustration.

"John?"

"Mmmh?"

"I... I was just wondering if you were asleep already. Obviously you are not."

"Obviously." he echoes non-committally.

A few seconds pass. Margaret bites her lower lip. Shame and dignity fight a lost battle against the physical need that plagues her. She cannot believe what she is about to do.  
Inconspicuously, inch by inch, she creeps closer to her husband's still form until her side touches his. She holds her breath. Nothing happens.  
Good grief, what more can she do without appearing to throw herself at him in a most unladylike fashion? Can he not sense how desperate she is? Her hand is now pressed against his and she slowly trails the back of her index finger along his thumb, his wrist, his forearm.

A strong hand suddenly clasps her wrist, effectively ending her progress. She freezes.

"Is there something you wanted?"

His voice is laced with amusement and she closes her eyes in mortification. When she does not answer, he raises himself on an elbow to look at her.

"Well? Margaret?"

Through her lashes, she peers at him. The moon casts a dim light in the room, partly revealing his features. He makes little effort to conceal a smirk.

"There is nothing", she claims feebly, hating the faint tremor in her voice.

"Really? I was under the impression that you were trying to convey a message."

He arches an eyebrow. He knows.  
Humiliation brings a vivid red to her cheeks.

"What kind of message would I possibly try to convey?" she answers haughtily, anger slowly building up.

How he likes when she hides behind this regal mask. It used to make him furious, but he knows better now. He knows this is only a façade that she is currently using to hide her embarrassment.

"I have no idea. You tell me."

"Well, I am sure I haven't got the slightest idea either, whatever you are trying to imply."

"You thinking that I was implying something seems to indicate that there is indeed something to imply", he points out with mischief. "Now, why will you not tell me?"

There is hope in his eyes, but she does not see it, as fury and shame bubble over and she abruptly flings the sheets back.

"You are impossible! There is nothing to tell!"

She gets out of bed and quickly heads for her dressing room, but she is stopped in her tracks by a pair of arms catching her waist from behind.

"Margaret, wait."

She stays still, fists clenched at her sides. She wants to turn to him and pummel his chest with her fists for teasing her so shamelessly and for making her feel such unbearable, shameful need. But she knows she is behaving foolishly. This outburst is so unlike her that she barely recognizes herself. Tears of mortification sting her eyes; she swallows them back, holding her chin high.

Silently, he holds her. And holds his ground. Whatever happens tonight will happen because she asks for it, not because she agrees to it. She will initiate it or he will be damned!

Several long seconds tick by, their breathing the only sound in the shadowy room.  
And then, just when he is starting to think it is a lost battle, her hand creeps up to unclasp one of his arms and she slowly guides his hand down, between her thighs.

"Please", she whispers, and that is all he needed. His heart soars with sweet victory.

"You want me", he breathes in wonder, but she mistakes the tone of his voice for incredulity and her distress increases.

"What have you done to me?" she whispers with a broken voice. "I no longer know or trust myself. Since we have married, all I can think of is that the night can never come soon enough..."

Her words flow him like a medicine, erasing all doubts in his mind. He presses her back against him, his hand still cupping her. He speaks low.

"I feel exactly the same, Margaret. So much so that it has taken me quite a healthy dose of self-control to stay on my side of the bed earlier on".

Startled, she turns her head to him.

"But... Why?"

"Because", his eyes fall to her lips, "I wanted you to want me."

With that, his mouth covers hers and for a second, she forgets everything. As his hand starts to move gently between her legs, she leans against him, bracing her palms on his thighs for support.  
His lips leave her mouth and skim the skin of her neck. She exhales shakily, feeling light-headed. His voice vibrates through her.

"Whenever you want to... Wherever you favour it... I want you to come to me. Never fear that I would find it shocking."

This last word strikes a chord in her and she pulls back abruptly, breaking his embrace.

"Do not say such things." She takes a few steps back, and stops when her back hits the vanity. Her heart is beating fast. "You cannot possibly want that."

She sees his surprise, soon replaced by an expression of frustration as he pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing briefly. It makes her heart sink.

"Are we back to this nonsense, then? You thinking that society has a say in this? Should dictate our conduct?"

She shakes her head, swallowing hard.

"It is not that."

Startled, he searches her eyes.

"What, then?"

She ducks her head and for a long moment, she nervously toys with the bangle at her wrist.

"I am afraid I might lose your love" she quietly admits, eventually.

At first, he is so shocked by her statement that he remains silent, his eyes holding a pained expression. When he finds his voice again, he says softly:

"Margaret, my love. I do not follow you."

Gripping the edge of the vanity, she raises her head defiantly and words tumble out of her mouth.

"What if I do show you my yearning for you, and you find me wanton? What if it makes you lose all regard for me? I could not bear to see that look in your eyes again, the one you gave me when you thought me... untrustworthy." Her voice, fierce at first, falters and she repeats in a murmur, "No, I could not bear it."

This wretched misunderstanding between them is still fresh in his mind and he closes his eyes briefly at the reminder.

"Margaret, if I could go back in time and change how I behaved..."

She shakes her head to stop him.

"I do not blame you. You know that. But you cannot deny that you despised me then... I am afraid that history might repeat itself."

"I see", he says after a while, looking at her thoughtfully. And he does see. He understands, now, her reluctance to give free rein to her sensuality in view of his past condemnation of her supposedly indiscrete behaviour.  
But he is also determined to point out an essential difference in their present situation.

He leans against one of the columns of their bed, opposite her, and starts hesitantly.

"If a woman threw herself at me with no other feeling than lust, then... yes. I believe I would lose all esteem for that woman, if I had some to begin with. However, I fail to see how this applies to you. What we share is certainly not mere lust, although part of it is. Do you think any less of me when I show you my need?"

Margaret smiles faintly at that.

"No... It makes me feel loved, and cherished."

He smiles back.

"I am glad. Because you are loved, and cherished. And in no danger of losing the unbreakable hold you have on me."

His words glide like a caress on her skin and they light a warm glow within her. They stay silent, she at the vanity, him against the wood column of their bed. He is looking tenderly at her, all quiet strength and confidence, and so devastatingly handsome. Under his gaze, the warm glow spreads, becoming a sweet and aching tension in her belly. Her heartbeat picks up.

She cannot help it. She takes a step toward him, then another one. He does not move, but watches her progression with a hopeful glint in his eyes. His lips part slightly in anticipation as she closes the distance between them and, sliding her arms around his waist, she claims his mouth. His response is immediate, and fiery. He frames her face with his hands and pulls her to him roughly, drinking her in like a parched man, his rekindled desire so imperious that everything around them fades, his focus solely on her. They kiss as if it were the last time they saw each other, again and again and again, soon out of breath and yet unable to stop.

To her surprise, he slowly starts to back her up toward the vanity. His mouth leaves her and his eyes, feral, bore into hers. Deep and husky, his voice starts weaving its magic, reaching her past the pounding pulse in her ears.

"I like that, out in the open, you are Mrs Thornton, a respectable, lovely and admired lady."

He carries on, taking her another step backward.

"But I also like that, in the privacy of our chambers, you are only Margaret. No less respectable, even lovelier, and less... formally attired."

Her eyes widen at him, fire coursing through her veins.

"And I like that you give yourself to me in a way nobody else could have you."

One more step.

"And that nobody else knows what you look like without your clothes on..."

"John!", she protests, blushing scarlet.

He goes on, undeterred, taking the last step to the vanity. Seizing her waist, he swiftly perches her on top of it, so that they are now eye-to-eye. He leans in.

"And that nobody else knows that look in your eyes when your pleasure peaks", he whispers in her ear.

He hears her gasp and draws back to look at her, gauging her reaction to his words with a wicked grin. She is embarrassed beyond words, he can see that, and yet after a second she looks up at him and holds his gaze almost defiantly. His lips are tantalizingly close, almost grazing hers.

"Do you know that these two Margarets have a trait in common?" he says.

"They do?" she answers in a whisper.

"Yes. They are _daring_. Something that I have always admired about you..."

He fits his lips to her again. His hands slowly slide down from her thighs to her knees, and he gently parts them, stepping in between.

Amidst the haze of desire in her mind, his last sentence resonates. He really, truly wants this from her, she realizes. He wants this new side of her, and her willingness to voice out this feeling of not being whole until their bodies are joined. This, this is love, too. And he has never been afraid to show it to her. So why should she be?

Taking a shaky breath between two kisses, she grabs his shirt and makes quick work of the buttons, pulling the garment off his shoulders and to the floor. Her fingers work at his waistband, undoing the buttons there too while kissing him feverishly. But this time, she does not stop there. She lets the trousers fall to the floor, and then, she tentatively reaches down and places a trembling hand around him. His hands that were clasping her knees suddenly grip the edge of the table instead, and he releases her mouth, bending forward with a muffled curse.  
She withdraws her hand quickly as if burnt, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. But he quickly regains his senses.

"No, please", he says and, taking her hand, he wraps it back around him. She searches his eyes.

"I do not know what to do...", she pleads, feeling terribly awkward.

He shows her then, his hand firmly guiding hers in a back and forth motion, his skin surprisingly soft in her palm. His gaze never falters from hers, his eyes almost black from hunger, his mouth half open, exhaling shakily against her lips with each pass of her hand. In all these months of lovemaking, she has never touched him this way, nor seen him entirely naked. Seeing her like this, so shy and yet so eager to pleasure him, is almost enough to send him over the edge. He fights it with all his might, his brow furrowing and his eyes falling shut as he desperately tries to ground himself.

"Am I not... doing this right?" he hears her say hesitantly, her movement slowing down.

He briefly chuckles, reopening his eyes.

"Quite the opposite", he answers hoarsely.

He raises his other hand to cup her neck and brings her mouth to his. This time, the kiss is much slower and sensuous, matching the rhythm she has resumed below. He seeks entrance to her mouth and she grants it, their tongues slowly duelling with each other. God, how she loves his kisses. His hands leave her and rise to the ribbon that ties her nightgown. Releasing it swiftly, they slide the fabric off her shoulders, letting it fall at her waist. He wastes no time cupping the graceful weight of her breasts, caressing them softly. He has always been quite partial to her feminine forms, even before they were married. Now that they are, everyday is a struggle to keep his hands to himself, his mind constantly flooding him with thoughts of his fingers digging into her flesh, of his mouth feasting on her.  
He gently teases her nipples, already hard under his palms, and so sensitive that she moans. He grins boyishly against her lips but soon lets out a gasp of pleasure as she retaliates lower. His response to her touch makes her feel powerful. There is something incredibly thrilling about how responsive and vulnerable he feels in her hand. He has fully bared himself to her, like she did for him.  
It occurs to her that she is sitting on her vanity, half-naked, touching her completely nude husband in the most intimate way possible, and that he seems to enjoy it thoroughly. And for the fist time, she does not worry about decorum. It is the last coherent thought that crosses her mind before his hand slides down, past her nightgown, and finds the moist heat between her legs. A whimper rises in her throat and she ceases her ministrations, unable to do anything but hold on the edge of the table. She breaks their kiss, her head falling back.

"I want to take you here", he says hoarsely, his fingers gliding over her wetness. "Please, say yes, please..."

She can only nod, unable to utter a word. His eyes trained on hers, he grabs her thighs roughly, bringing her right to the edge of the vanity. One of his hands slides to her back to support her while the other settles on her hip, and with one forward motion, he sheathes himself inside her with a hiss of bliss. She gasps as the sweet invasion awakens burning sensations in her.

And yet, it is different from the sensations she felt the previous night, when he used his fingers on her. It is an intense, much more centered kind of pleasure, white-hot jolts shooting through her from a place he hits deep within her. They leave her panting and whimpering, and yet, she knows instinctively that it will not crest.  
She does not care. All she can think of is him, making a claim on her body and on her mind so thoroughly that she feels like she belongs to him, in this instant, belongs to him with no reserve, giving him every inch of her flesh, every thought in her head, loving him so unconditionally that nothing matters except his body seeking and finding pleasure from hers.

He, however, is of another mind altogether. Although he feels himself perilously close to climax already, he obstinately refuses to give in, determined to give her as much pleasure as the previous night. Whether it is his unfaltering close attention to her responses, or just instinct, he somehow senses that something is not quite right.

"Margaret, are you... do you think you can... this way?"

She understands immediately what he is delicately asking.

"I... I do not think so", she says, embarrassed.

He slows down, and gazes at her, half-lying on the vanity, beautifully disheveled and flushed from pleasure, her nightgown pooled at her hips. And he swears to himself he will not leave her behind. Bringing her flush against him, he catches her lips in a languorous kiss, and sneaks a hand where they are joined, gently stroking her there. She bucks against his hand.

"Like this, then?", he whispers against her lips.

She bucks again and whimpers "Yes... John..."

Still caressing her, he resumes his rhythm inside her, watching her intently through half-hooded eyes. Her eyes are screwed shut. Time seems to stop around them. This time, she can feel the pleasure build slowly, each circle on her flesh bringing her closer and closer, until she finds herself _right there_, teetering on the brink, unconsciously tensing in anticipation.

John feels it and picks up the pace, until she finally convulses in his arms, moaning his name loudly. John holds her tight against him, rocking her through her orgasm, pride and awe welling up inside him. For a few precious seconds, Margaret feels like the world is quaking around her and she is swept away in a current of water and light, her body at the mercy of powerful spasms. When they subside, John finally allows himself to be claimed by the wave he was holding at bay, surrendering to her body with a roar.

They stay like that for a few moments, panting erratically against each other's neck until at last, their breathing settle.

In the wake of their intense lovemaking, John suddenly feels mischievous and, taking a small step back to look at her, he raises an eyebrow and asks with studied nonchalance:

"Are you feeling better now?"

Her reaction is priceless. Her eyes widen in disbelief and her mouth falls open. For a second, she looks like she is about to slap him. But then she notices the devilish sparkle in his eyes, the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Of all the nerve!" she exclaims, swatting his arm, but her outrage is now laced with incredulous amusement.

He laughs heartily then, and she does not know if she is more shocked because of his previous comment, or because she has never heard him laugh that way before. She cannot help but grin at the sight of him so obviously entertained, even though it is at her expense. And as he lifts her from the vanity and carries her to their bed, she pulls his face to hers and steals his breath with a kiss.

* * *

John always remembered that night with particular fondness, because from that day on, he never doubted Margaret's love for him again.

The obvious approval with which he welcomed her caresses made her understand that physical love was indeed a gift, and although she could never bring herself to voice out her desire for him, she did find silent, subtle ways to seduce him whenever she needed him, and always found in John a more than willing participant, for he was quite powerless to resist her sensual allurement.

Margaret always retained a certain part of timidity. However, the brief flash of alarm in her eyes when he was about to take her, or her shocked expression whenever he whispered _risqué_ things to her, proved to be the most potent of aphrodisiacs to her husband. For nothing was more thrilling than watching his beloved wife slowly surrender her dignified countenance to physical bliss, and John came to see this last shred of shyness as a blessing in disguise.


End file.
